


Ships That Pass: The Gull's Wing and Westerly Rover

by DV-Skitz (Skitz_phenom)



Category: Green Rider Series - Kristen Britain
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/DV-Skitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stevic G'ladheon unexpectedly comes into possession of some Rider history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ships That Pass: The Gull's Wing and Westerly Rover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eris_kyrall (kereia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/gifts).



> Note: This story may contain slight spoilers for all of the Green Rider series, but specifically does allude to things from the latest book, Blackveil. There's also a bit of UST - but nothing more than is suggested in the books.
> 
> eris_kyrall - you left me with a wide-open playing field and for that I'm ever so grateful. As much as I love the main characters of these books, just getting to explore and play with some Rider history was so much fun. I truly hope this is what you were looking for and that you enjoy it! Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Many thanks to my favorite Beta-reader/cheerleader. <3 And any mistakes are definitely my own, because I couldn't stop tweaking...

“No, that’s not right.” Stevic G’ladheon frowned at the numbers in the ledger that he’d just finished tallying.  He squinted, as if that might change a three into a nine – a profit of ninety silver per bale of Rhovanny silk made much more sense than thirty – and then slumped down into his chair with a resigned sigh. “I’m just going to have to start over,” he grumbled, already reaching for a fresh piece of parchment to begin the arduous process of calculating tariffs on a barge shipment of textiles bound for Sacor City.

“Numbers not adding up again?”

Stevic  startled; he jerked up from his slouch and then he swore as his elbow knocked into the inkwell, nearly upsetting it.  He scrambled to keep it from tipping entirely and spilling ink over the ledger and other documents strewn across his desk.  Setting everything to right, he looked up to the man standing in the doorway of his office and spread his hand, imploringly. “Sevano, if you can make these numbers add up, I’ll happily hand over whatever profit we make on this thrice-cursed silk.”

Stevic’s Cargo Master, and closest friend, only shook his head and chuckled. “I recognize the trap you’re laying for me, Stevic.  It sounds a good bargain, until I come to realize that the in hours it takes me to first interpret the bird-scratches you call handwriting and then, to try to figure out where the mistake is, I’d have earned more down at the docks gambling with the boatmen, than in sorting this for you.”

“That’s likely a fair assessment,” Stevic admitted with a wry smile.  “Although speaking of gambling, I’d not thought I’d see you until tomorrow.   That _is_ what it means to have a free day, you know.”

“Aye, I know.” Sevano agreed readily enough and then said almost casually: “But I thought perhaps you’d want to know that the _Gull’s Wing_ and her crew had fairer weather than expected and they put into port just an hour ago.”

Grinning, Stevic pushed away from the desk and stood. “That’s the first good news I’ve had in weeks. They must’ve had quite the headwinds coming around the Hillander coast to make the trip so fast.” His expression sobered somewhat when he recalled the purpose of that voyage. “Is it asking too much to hope that they found what we were looking for?” he asked cautiously.  He’d sent the sleek coastal ship – the fastest in his fleet – to the southernmost Cloud Islands on the rumor that a wrecked cargo ship, long thought lost, had been discovered following some odd shifting of the lands.  The wreck of the _Westerly Rover_ had been nothing more than an oft told tale told shared by grizzled sailors deep in their cups when Stevic was just a boy pulling nets down at the docks.  But he’d long believed that all the best of those old fisherman’s tales had a foundation in truth.

The story of the _Rover_ had stuck with him in particular because of the supposed treasures she’d had been hauling and the manner of her demise.  The ship and all hands - all but one lucky deckhand who survived to share the tale - had been ‘first becalmed, then beset by the foulest seas and finally swallowed by the earth itself’.  What that actually meant was long lost to history.  He knew the manifest had also been embellished with every retelling, but even if she held a fraction of the cargo she was purported to, it was worth the investment to check it out.  

Sevano himself had been the one to carry news to Stevic of the newest rumors that the _Westerly Rover_ had been sighted. He'd heard talk of it during his recent trade dealings in the Cloud Islands and rushed home to Corsa early to share the information.  Stevic had chided him for leaving behind the tropical climate simply to share drunkard’s tales, but he’d been absolutely intrigued.  Memories from his childhood filtering back to the forefront of his thoughts.  While many others would likely hope for gems and jewels and piles of gold coin, Stevic had listened to a mad old sailor swear to Westrion himself that the _Rover_ had been carrying something much more unique than mere baubles.  He banked the risk and cost against that faint remembrance.

Funding and organizing the hastily arranged voyage, and wondering after its success after the _Gull_ had left port had been about the only thing that could take Stevic’s mind off of the absolute lack of word from Karigan.   In the months since her last visit she’d sent one letter explaining that she was being sent along with some kind of delegation on behalf of the King. He knew little more than that she’d departed on the solstice, and Stevic swore to think of it. King’s own Knight or not, he hated when Karigan rushed off to greet danger like an old friend.

Stevic had originally planned on sailing on the _Gull’s Wing_ himself, longing not only for the warmer climes of the Cloud Islands archipelagos, but for something to keep him occupied while he worried after his daughter’s fate.  Unfortunately, his responsibilities as Clan Chief meant that hieing off to tropical waters on what was little more than rumor and whim was not in the cards. 

Shaking the myriad of trouble thoughts away with a literal toss of his head, Stevic realized that Sevano had still not answered him. When the silence carried on longer than expected, Stevic felt his pulse begin to speed up.  Sevano’s face gave away absolutely nothing.  His Cargo Master was deliberately delaying, but did that mean good news or bad? “C’mon man, spill.”

Sevano didn’t speak, but he did grin. Wide and broad. His eyes were dancing.

“What shape was she in?” Stevic blurted, unable to hold back the questions threatening to overrun his tongue. “What condition was the cargo? Was there any cargo to speak of?”

Sevano raised a hand as if to physically ward off the onslaught of questions. “I’ll tell you all that I know.  They found her near those shoals, just south of the Drifting Inlet.  There were two other Merchant vessels in the nearby waters, but none of them were running shallow enough to approach.” He smirked and Stevic shared the slightly vicious grin.  As Cargo Master for Clan G’ladheon, Sevano had gotten the brunt of mockery over the low-bellied sloop he’d commissioned from the shipwrights.  The _Gull’s Wing_ looked like a pleasure craft next to the heavy, deep runners that were the norm on the coast, but she was faster than even the _Gold Hunter_ that he’d crewed alongside Sevano as a lad. 

“The way Captain Farlene tells it,” Sevano went on, “the Rover looked as though she’d been hatched out of the very rock.  She was still buried to her hull, but most of the foredeck was clear and they were able to access her hold easily enough. He can only surmise that the old rumors were true and that she’d been buried in dirt and stone suddenly. It left her remarkably well preserved.

“I’ve instructed Captain Farlene to report to the Cargo Office as soon as he and the crew finished securing the ship.  He has the detailed manifest he documented while transferring the cargo.” His smile grew impossibly wider. “As well as the _Rover’s_ original manifest.  Apparently the two are remarkably similar.” He held up a forestalling hand when Stevic started to speak again. “I don’t know much more than that.  I wanted to report to you about the Gulls’ arrival right away so I got a cursory report.  Though I do have one specific item being brought to the house immediately.”

“Sevano, I can’t wait here at the house! I’ve got to get down to the docks and see that cargo for myself.”

“I think you’ll want to see this, Stevic.”

As if on cue, the bell sounded and Sevano left the room.  When he came back a moment later it was with a medium sized travel-trunk hefted on one shoulder.  He carried it into the office and set it down with a good deal of care.

“What’s this?”

Stepping back, Sevano merely pointed toward the front of the chest.

Stevic knelt down and spotted it immediately. A brass emblem of the all-too-familiar winged horse of the Green Riders was seated over the seal.  “It’s a Rider trunk.”

“Aye.”

He let his gaze drift down from the emblem to assess the condition.  Though some of the brass fittings were pitted and spotted with age and the leather-wrapped wood was buckled in places – likely from moisture – it was in surprisingly good condition.   “I had no idea there was a Rider on that ship.”

“It was never mentioned when the tale was told,” Sevano agreed. “I must’ve heard that story thrice a week when I was a lad, and not once was it mentioned that there was a Greenie on board.”

Stevic frowned at the diminutive, but let it pass. He knew that Karigan wouldn’t object. “So what do I do with it? It’s not been opened has it?”

Sevano shook his head.  “Doesn’t appear to have been.  And no one on the _Gull’s Wing_ would’ve done so.  Looks as though it’s still locked.”

For some reason he was relieved to hear that. The thought of anyone, even the hand-picked sailors he’d chosen to crew the Gull, pawing through Rider property made him uncomfortable.  It was as though Karigan’s own personal belongings were sealed inside.

“What barges do we still have docked?”

Sevano frowned. “Both the White and Blue Daisies are sitting empty down at the harbor. Though you’ve got the Blue Daisy scheduled to put out to Rivertown day after tomorrow with a load of Hillander produce. Why d’you ask?”

“I think I’ll accompany that shipment,” he explained, “and once we’ve unloaded in Rivertown I’ll head up to Sacor City. I’m going to deliver this chest to Captain Mapstone.”

Clearly trying – and failing miserably – to hide a knowing grin, Sevano nodded. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.  Though, if I may be so bold as to suggest: you may want to open it.” When Stevic frowned, Sevano continued on. “It may be that whatever is inside is in as good condition as the rest of the cargo from the _Rover_. Or it may be that there’s nothing but mildewed rags inside.” He shrugged. “If you’re going to deliver it personally to the Captain, it might be best to know that it’s worth the trip.”

Stevic couldn’t fault the logic.  He’d hate to show up to visit Captain Mapstone with potential Green Rider history, only to have nothing of substance after all.  That the thought of disappointing her made his stomach clench in more ways than one was _not_ something he was going to think on too heavily.  He stood and lifted the trunk, finding it heavier than expected. A good sign that it contained more than mildewing rags.  He carried it over to the low table next to the settee in the corner of the room, and set it down on the table.

“Alright, Sevano. I’m going to need to borrow your knife and lock picks.” When Sevano made to protest, Stevic smirked.  His Cargo Master had as colorful a youth as his own, and some habits were hard to break. “No time for social niceties, my friend. I know you’ve got both on you.”  He lifted a shoulder airily. “I’d fetch mine, but I’m anxious to see what’s inside, I’ll admit.”

Caught out, Sevano could only grin ruefully as he retrieved both a slender pouch of picks and the knife and handed them over to Stevic.

Stevic fished out a medium width hook pick and the thicker, L-shaped wrench.  He pushed aside the keyhole guard and wedged it in place with the knife and then got to work, positioning each tool carefully and feeling around for the pin that would need to be depressed for the spring to unfasten. It had been some years since he’d had to ply his hand at such an endeavor, but it came back to him easily enough. A few minutes of precise, controlled twitches of his fingers and minute adjustments and he felt the pin give at the same time he heard that tell-tale ‘click’.

“Ha! There you go you bugger!”  He had to chuckle at how much this simple bit of pseudo-larceny brought him back to his younger years when he was a much rougher sort.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Sevano said, already backing out of the room.

“You don’t have to –“ he started to protest, but Sevano’s upheld hand stopped him short.

“I know. But I just feel that this is something better done by you alone.  There may be such inside that might call for discretion and I’m sure Captain Mapstone would appreciate fewer eyes upon it. I’m after heading back down to the docks anyway.  I’d like to supervise the rest of the unloading of the _Gull’s Wing_.”

Stevic nodded. “Alright, my friend.  Thank you for bringing this to me. And please do tell Captain Farlene that I’ll meet him down at the Cargo Office early this evening.”

After Sevano dipped his head in acknowledgement and left him alone, Stevic turned his full attention back to the chest.  He eased the latch up gingerly, feeling the age-fused hinges of the brass closure protest the movement.  Once the latch was clear, he slowly lifted the lid.  For having been locked away in the hold of a ship that was buried in rock and earth for more than sixty years, the lid lifted easily enough and the support arms that coupled it to the base were still intact. 

The trunk was full to the brim and still neatly packed.  At the very top were a pair of black, calf-leather riding boots. They looked remarkably similar to the ones Karigan currently wore and those he’d had commissioned for Captain Mapstone’s Riders.  Apparently good, utilitarian design was timeless.  He lifted the boots out, surprised to find them only a little stiff.  A good oiling and it was possible they might still be wearable.  He set them aside.

Underneath the boots was the ubiquitous Green Rider coat, neatly folded.  He fingered the cloth of a sleeve, feeling the slightly rougher texture of wool than what the coats were currently being made from.  He took the coat out, laying it aside along with a pair of trousers, some small clothes, and two of the linen Rider shirts with their gold-embroidered cuffs.   The condition of everything amazed him.

Beneath the clothing were several items wrapped and tied in oilcloth.  Stevic hesitated. He’d already proven that the contents of the chest were more than salvageable.  The right thing to do would be to re-pack the items he’d already removed and leave the rest of it for Laren… Captain Mapstone to discover.  But there was something about handling this Rider gear that comforted him, made him think of Karigan and know that wherever she was – these were the clothes she was wearing and the gear she packed…  It wasn’t logical sentiment, but dammit, he missed his daughter!

He suspected that Laren would understand.    

With that reassurance in mind, he reached into the trunk and withdrew the first of the wrapped packages.  He knew before he opened them what he held.  Peeling back the thick oilcloth revealed three nondescript brooches, plain and simply adorned with cheap faux-gems.  

Karigan had explained the Rider Brooches to him. How they appeared as no more than poor trinkets to all but Riders.   He hadn’t wanted to believe in the magic apparently inherent in a piece of metal, but he’d promised his daughter he’d be more open-mined about magic.  Though he couldn’t see past the glamour, he knew these were three Rider Brooches he held in his hand.  There was no other reason for the Rider who owned this chest to so carefully and meticulously wrap mere costume jewelry.

Taking as much care to rewrap them, Stevic set them on top of the stack of folded uniform and drew out another wrapped package.   From the length and girth it was easy to surmise it was a weapon of some kind. Either a slender short sword, or a long dagger most likely.   Probably the personal weapon of the Rider, and something he could set aside.   The next package held, oddly, a ladies’ silver dressing set. The ivy and floral etched comb, brush and mirror were startlingly similar to a set he’d gotten for Kariny as a wedding gift.  Which made sense, he supposed. He’d gotten the items from a silversmith in Corse, and that was where the _Rover_ had been sailing from.  He wondered idly if these items were for the Riders’ own personal use, or if they’d been purchased as a gift for someone special. He’d likely never know.

The last oilskin package contained two leather-bound books. He studied the top one, turning it over first to look at all sides of the cover, but there were no markings to indicate what it might be.  He flipped open to a page in the middle and reading the hand-written notations, realized it was some kind of log-book or journal.  An entry read:

> _The weather here is intolerable! I told the Captain that someone from Northern D’Ivary province would not be suited to duty in such climes, but he insisted that every other Rider was occupied. I suspect this is just revenge on his part for the incident with the piglets, no matter what Russell says about my ability being key in this. Even Warbler snorts and frets and sweats like a maiden in a hothouse while simply standing at his picket. I fear what would happen should I need to push him to any speed beyond the lightest jog. He’s like to collapse.  His Rider is no different. Even the nights are sticky and hot on these forsaken islands._
> 
> _But we will have a Waystation in the Cloud Islands, and I will see it done.  I’ve already found suitable ground for the hearthstone.   The locals have been keen to assist in exchange for the meager trinkets I brought with me.  I only hope the weather cools enough to make construction a less-than-hellish task…_

He flipped a few more pages, skimming over briefly jotted notes about the construction of this ‘waystation’.  Obviously some kind of Rider outpost from the description.  Here and there were entries in a completely different script. He stopped on another, slightly longer entry in the same hand as the first he’d read.

> _The waystation is almost complete.  Chrys’s arrival with the final warding stones and stores means that we’ll be able to finish up finally and move on to other Rider business.  But, Chrys is as stubborn as a Rider can get! She’s only been here a few months and already she’s speaking of putting down roots in this ridiculous place.  Just because there’s been talk of permanently assigning one or two Riders to the tropics doesn’t mean it has to be ~~us~~ me.  _
> 
> _That daft girl can do whatever she likes. I’ve no intention of spending the rest of my days ferrying messages from Island to Island, and attempting to liaise with the Huradesh, with only infrequent trips back to civilization.  Chrys was born under this unforgiving sun, no matter she spent the last twelve years in Sacor City, but I miss the snow and ice… and roaring hearth-fires and mulled wine.   The way she dances around on the sand like a … native.  Trousers rolled above her knees and her shirt tied at the waist like a sailor! It’s unbecoming of a Rider!  Even her Egret enjoys frolicking on the beaches. She’s teased my poor Warbler into following after._

Stevic chuckled. Unless he was misreading, it seemed this mysterious Rider was quite enamored of his fellow.  He flipped a few more pages.

> _Well, she’s done it. Chrys has twisted my beard enough that I’ve finally given in. We’ve accepted the Captain’s ‘suggestion’ to stay down here.  It will mean only visiting my home Province perhaps once a year…  It’s not often that Riders end up on permanent assignment, but it’s in the best interest of Rider business (at least that’s what Chrys says).  It will be a good thing to have Riders on hand in these Islands._
> 
> _The trade talks with the Huradesh are going well.  Chrys’s ability to calm with her voice has been such a boon.  My own skills at language are tested with every new dialect we come across the further inland we delve on Huradesh, but my Brooch has not let me down.  Much as I am chagrinned to admit it, I now have to applaud Captain Russell for his foresight._
> 
> _The South Point Waystation is complete and will be a welcome respite to any Riders who find need of it.  I suspect Chrys and I will stop by regularly for upkeep, as it’s not on any regular Rider Provisioner’s routes._
> 
> _Chrys is talking of building a small home on one of the smaller, easterly Islands. The air is a bit more temperate and the rains come often enough to keep the evenings cool.  There’s plenty of good graze for Egret and Warbler as well.  I suspect that daft girl will probably want to get married at some point…_
> 
> _For my fellow Riders who find themselves on duty in the Cloud Islands, please feel free to take the time to find us.  Just ask after ‘Grizzled Grif’ (as the natives are fond of calling me) and fair-haired Chrys.   I’m sure they’ll point you in the right direction._

Heartened by the happy outcome, Stevic set the first book aside and drew out the second. Reading the first few entries told him that this was the journal that had been used by Riders sheltering in the Waystation. Sometimes there were only one or two lines in the same handwriting, and other times he found several pages filled with detailed journey notes.  He flipped back towards the end of the book and stopped on a page that was decorated with not only words, but sketches as well. 

> _What a journey!  But for all the troubles that seemed to befall me getting here, my arrival was certainly met under auspicious circumstance! There is a festival of some sort that seems to have occupied all of the folk in the nearby village. I have been invited to join in the festivities, and I may do so –but first I must give myself and my Crow a chance to rest our weary feet. We were offered lodging with some of the locals, but I declined – politely.  Besides my charge to collect and replace the station logs and check provisions, I’m much more at ease in a Waystation during the night._
> 
> _Tomorrow I shall endeavor to find out if anyone has news of Riders Grif and Chrys Greysun.  The last reports we have of them were some months back, and none of the other Rider’s who’ve been through this way have mentioned seeing them._

This particular Rider was certainly prolific in his entries, even though a few were limited to a sketch and a few descriptive words.  Curious as well about the fate of the Rider couple, Stevic read on.

> _During my visit to the village today, I had messages to deliver on behalf of several Merchant Clans. It was impractical to ride, so I left Crow in the care of a group of young girls with the promise to bring them a sweet if they looked after him.   I suspect I needn’t have bothered with the sweets, as upon my return I found my noble, stalwart stallion braided and bedecked in ribbon befitting a parade pony on Mayday!  For the festival they told me proudly, and how could I do anything but reward them for their diligent work.  Crow’s mane alone was tied in such a complicated net of braid that I shudder to think how I’m going to get it loose. Perhaps I’ll have to ‘hire’ the girls again?_
> 
> _I cannot blame them for being so enamored of my gentle giant.  There is precious little in the way of livestock on these islands.  Some shaggy cattle, small pens of pigs and a few flocks of sheep and goats.  Very few horses and then only small, sturdy ponies and donkeys.  I know they’ve seen Rider mounts before, but much as it pains me to admit, Crow is a particularly handsome specimen with his glossy black coat and over-long hair.  And those impossible-to-keep snowy-white socks.   Eyes everywhere fix on Crow. I suspect it’s just going to inflate his vanity._
> 
> _He does look pretty all tarted up though._

There were several hasty sketches below this entry, showing details of the braiding and decorations on his steed. Clearly this Rider had wanted to capture the moment as best as possible. His artistic skill was not insignificant.  He skipped past a few short entries, scribbles mostly, to another of length.

> _I’ve received a sending from Rider Paisley.  She reached out to me in a dream last night.  Now, at first I thought I must actually be dreaming, but in no dream I’d ever hope to have would Paisley call me ‘Silver chin’.   It’s a much reviled nickname and the reason that I keep clean-shaven._
> 
> _Paisley advises that I’m to join with a diplomatic delegation sailing through the Isles’.  They’re to arrive within a fortnight and then we sail on to Huradesh.   While Paisley’s sending was limited – and the poor girl will likely be out all day as a result of projecting as much as she did – one thing was made clear enough:  though not officially part of my assignment, I’m to use my Rider-gift as much as possible to recall and document little._
> 
> _The rest of my instructions are being carried by the ship’s Captain. The vessel is called the_ Westerly Rover. _I only hope that they’ll be amenable to sailing with Crow on board. I can’t fathom the idea of leaving him behind._

Ah, and here was the explanation for the presence of the Rider’s trunk on the _Rover_.  He skimmed again, looking for the next reference.

> _Tomorrow I sail with the_ Rover _.  I’m pleased to report that Crow has been welcomed aboard. Apparently the Captain bargained Rider participation in this venture on that requirement. I’m quite grateful and sure that Crow will travel well._
> 
> _One thing I must report before I sail is that I’ve discovered the fate of Grif and Chrys Greysun.   Unfortunately it is as we feared.  Locals on Wading Island, where the pair settled, tell me that Chrys and Grif perished together while trying to help the locals during a hurricane.  While I grieve for their loss, they had many good years together and that’s more than most Riders can ask for. (I can only hope that a certain Noblewoman is willing to wait for me through my service to the Crown)._
> 
> _I was able to visit where they’ve been laid to rest, however.  With my gift I’ll be able to recall it always, but I still felt it my duty to capture it for others to share._

Beneath that entry was a drawing that took up the bottom of the page, detailing a pair of wooden grave markers draped with vines and flowers.  He sighed, heavily, as he studied the intricasies of the picture, feeling and odd pang sorrow for a pair of Riders he'd never even met.

Surprisingly there were few entries after that, and the ones he skimmed through were short and devoid of much content. Even the sketches were strangely absent. He had to wonder if the Rider’s comment about 'documenting little' was the reason for it.  Unfortunately he recorded very little about the purpose of the Rover's journey. There was an odd note about a device that simply said:

> _The seas have grown fierce and I fear it is unnaturally so.  For all our seeming success, I worry that those items we brought aboard in good faith of our bargain are more than we expected them to be. There is one device that has seemed to have some otherworldly hum about it.  The appearance of the sound coincides with the rise in the waves. They tell me it is coincidence, but I'm not so sure..._

He turned the last two pages and found the final entry.

> _I suspect this may be my last entry.  The Rover was three days becalmed on umoving seas.  I think we all hoped the worst had passed. Then the very islands around us began to tremble and a terrible rumbling echoes through the waves. The seas are wild again, and growing wilder with each trough and crest. With reluctance, I’ve packed away my uniform and have donned sailor’s garb.  My fine linen and the handsome coat that has won me so much admiration are not fit to wear on board during this horrendous storm.   I can only hope that this chest and my belongings survive me, should I not live beyond these days.  I’ve gone down in to the hold and released Crow from his stall and untied his leads.  They tell me it’s dangerous to have him loose, but I’ll not have him trapped in that shoddy coffin should the ship strike rocks or upend in these relentless waves._
> 
> _If a fellow Rider finds this log, I implore you to find Sorcha D’Yer and deliver to her the dresser set I so wanted her to have. Tell her that I loved her to my very last._
> 
> _Rider Kellan Dorten_

Frowning, Stevic closed the book and held it tight in his hands.  He was doubly glad to have already made the decision to bring the trunk and its contents to Captain Mapstone.   Rider Dorten and all the others whose moments were recorded in the journals deserved to be remembered and honored.  

 

* * *

 

Tugging his tunic straighter and smoothing a hand over his hair to tame the wind-blown strands, Stevic drew in a deep breath and then lifted a hand to knock at Captain Mapstone’s office door.  He rapped twice in a quick, two-beat staccato.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was muffled by the wood between them, but Stevic thought he could hear a hint of wariness, or perhaps just weariness, in the tone.

“Stevic G’ladheon, Captain.”

There was a telling pause. Though not one he could interpret.  “Come in, please.”

He opened the door and then hefted the trunked and carried it in to her office. 

Captain Mapstone eyed it with curiosity. “I didn’t think we were due another shipment so soon?”

Stevic gave a soft chuckle at that.  When he’d promised to accouter all of her Riders on the return promise of their help in finding Karigan, he hadn’t realized how beholden he’d become to the needs of the Green Riders… and their Captain. “No shipment this time, I’m afraid.” Her brows lifted, fine copper hairs glinting in the warm sunlight that spilled into the room. “This is a trunk that was found on a vessel long thought lost in the Cloud Islands.” He turned it so she could see the emblem on the front and heard her soft gasp.

“What ship?” she asked urgently.

“The _Westerly Rover_.”

Captain Mapstone’s eyes went wide. “That’s impossible! The _Rover’s_ been missing for decades.”

Stevic couldn’t help the way his mouth curled delightedly. “Not missing, _buried_. If you can believe that. Which _I_ almost couldn’t until my men found her half-covered in rock and earth.”

Captain Mapstone waved him to a chair.  “Please sit down. And set that anywhere.” She looked torn between wanting to investigate the trunk and hear the rest of Stevic’s tale.

To save her the decision, Stevic placed the trunk near her feet and then settled into the chair on the opposite side of her desk and began to speak. “As you’re apparently familiar with the tale of the _Rover_ ,” she inclined her head, “I’ll start with my own involvement.  A few months back Sevano, my Cargo Master,” the Captain again nodded her familiarity, “was down in the archipelago overseeing several shipments of spices, tobacco and a few other odds and ends.  And perhaps it was a bit of a vacation for him as well,” Stevic admitted wistfully, thinking back a moment to his own brief and quickly-quashed desire to do that very thing. “He was frequenting one of the taverns that favors locals as well as merchants when he overheard a rumor about the _Rover_.  It was said that a strange ship had been spotted down along the Drifting Inlet. Not _on_ the water, but instead land bound and buried to her stern in rock.  

“Most laughed off the tales as drunken sailor’s fancy. Perhaps, they said, someone spotted some trees or rocks that might put one in mind of a ship.  One of the tall slender trees that are so common on the isles certainly could be mistaken for a mast and crow’s nest.” He canted his head to the side in a not-quite shrug. “Despite the nature of the rumor and their general dismissal, Sevano found it intriguing enough to return to Corsa right away, and when he told me the tale, I set out to outfit my fastest ship to make the voyage.”

“Why?” Captain Mapstone asked when he paused momentarily. “Why did you believe enough in what you admit was a flimsy story to risk the cost of such a venture.”

“Ahh, well that’s a bit…” he trailed off a moment, unsure how to describe something that had been with him since childhood.  He settled on the very truth of it, no matter how embarrassing it might be. “Sheer boyhood fantasy, I suspect.  The cargo rumored to be in the hold of the _Rover_ was something that I’ve heard stories about since my days on the fishing quays of Black Island.  Many talked of gold or jewels being transported for some celebration or coronation or whatnot. Others said she was carrying rare spices and herbs from faraway lands.

“But I remember listening to a grizzled old seaman who claimed to have known the sole survivor of the _Rover_.  Most dismissed him as a raving drunk, but there was something pure about his words; some sincerity that didn’t sound boastful or fictitious.” He couldn’t explain it better than that, so he concluded with, “it’s stuck with me all these years, and so I knew I had to take the chance.”

“What was it about that particular sailor’s story that was so intriguing?” Mapstone asked.

There was something about the Captain’s tone that was almost expectant, or perhaps knowing. He had a sudden suspicion that she knew more about what had been in the hold of that ship than most.

“He said that the _Westerly Rover_ had been returning from a secret treaty negotiation between the Hillanders and a heretofore unknown Huradesh city.  A city of great wonder and of great magic.” He hesitated again, recalling the harsh words he’d exchanged with Karigan on this very topic.  “My father had no truck with even a hint of magic. And perhaps it was because I’d heard that old sailor’s words _before_ my father could _instill_ ,” he marked that word with a particular inflection and saw the Captain’s eyes narrow, “that selfsame lesson in me and magic became something to fear and revile, the memory of it stuck.  The old man said that instead of gold and jewels, the _Rover_ was laden with treasures and technological wonders of this city and that many were suspected to be magical.” Again, the Captain’s nod was one of agreement rather than acknowledgement.  Stevic decided to call her on it. “Why is it that I suspect you’ve more knowledge of this ship’s journey than I have?”

Captain Mapstone grinned. It was a teasing, fleeting expression, chased away almost immediately by the more serious mien, but for a moment she’d looked a decade younger and without the weight of responsibility he so often saw bearing down on her.  He wished he might see her like that more often, and then mentally chastised himself for letting his thoughts drift so traitorously.

“You’re right, Stevic, I do know more about the _Rover_ that most.” She spread her hands apologetically. “There was a Rider by the name of Dorten,  Kellan Dorten, who was assigned by his Captain to accompany a very secret mission at the behest of the King.  They were to seek out a city deep inland in Huradesh, located well-beyond the few already established coastal trade cities, and negotiate a treaty for commerce and exchange of information.

“Though I’ve little more than conjecture and rumor myself,” she went on, “much of that is documented in some of our Rider histories.   Rider Dorten was selected to join this mission simply because he was already en route to the Cloud Islands to follow-up on the status of a pair of Rider’s who’d been out of contact for longer than expected.”

Remembering the journal entries he’d read from Grif, Stevic interrupted. “Was that by chance, Rider’s Grif and Chrys?”

“Yes!” The Captain’s mouth dropped open and she floundered for a moment. “How did you know that?”

Suddenly abashed, Stevic looked down at his hands that were loosely clasped in his lap. “I may have read a bit of the Rider journals that were in the trunk.”

Mapstone was out of the chair and throwing open the lid of the trunk almost before Stevic realized what was happening. “There are journals in here?”

“Yes,” Stevic confirmed. “Two of them. And I believe three Rider Brooches as well.”

The eyes that flicked up to meet his were wide and glittering. “Brooches?”

Stevic moved to one knee next to the trunk. He’d repacked it exactly as the Rider had done, and his hands unerringly slipped beneath the folded uniform to the oilskin bundle that contained the three pieces of jewelry that looked like nothing more to him that costume pieces.  He handed them over and Captain Mapstone took them reverently.  He watched her peel back the cloth, saw her eyes close a moment, and then heard the little gasping hiccup that slipped past her lips. “They always find their way home,” she muttered, clearly not speaking to him.

“How did you know?” she asked after moving them to her desk. “What they were, I mean,” she clarified at what must’ve been a puzzled frown.

“Karigan told me about them. The fact that ordinary folk can’t recognize them for what they are. I couldn’t think of another reason a Rider would have gone to such great lengths to safely stow such plain baubles.” He grinned.

“Wise thinking,” she agreed with a matching smile. “And the journals?” she asked.

“Just there,” he shifted out another oilskin bundle. “Captain Mapstone, I hope it’s not an intrusion that I read some of the excerpts…”

“Stevic, after all this time call me Laren, please.” She had her eyes locked on the books, but she refrained from unwrapping them.  “And no, it’s no intrusion at all.   For all the support you’ve given my Riders, I’m not going to begrudge you your curiosity.”  She looked back over at him. “Stevic, I can’t thank you enough for bringing this to me.” She gestured to the trunk and its contents. “I mean, rightfully it’s all yours, since you discovered the _Rover_.”

He waved that away immediately. “Sevano brought this to me as soon as he learned it was aboard. The _Gull’s Wing_ wasn’t even in port more than thirty minutes I believe.  Honestly all I could think of when I saw this was what if it had been Karigan’s trunk.  And how much I’d want to know what happened to her.” He gamely tried for a smile, but it faltered. “I don’t suppose there’s been any word?”

Laren frowned. “No, I’m afraid not.  But don’t let that dishearten you.  We expected the delegation to be out of contact for some time.”

“And I don’t suppose you can tell me anything about where she’s gone? I only knew she’s accompanying some Eletians and that she expects to be out of contact for some time.”

“I’m sorry, Stevic” Laren shook her head, “but it’s King’s business. I’d like to tell you, but I’m sworn to keep the King’s word on this.”

Stevic didn’t bother to hide the heavy sigh. “Reading through some of the entries in those journals has given me a new appreciation for what the Riders go through.  And despite the hardships and the danger, there is so much joy in the moments they capture… it’s exactly how I see Karigan.  She’ll face down the fiercest foe, and witness terrible darkness, but she manages to find hope amongst all that gloom.” He stood then abruptly, feeling quite abashed, and returned to his chair. “Sorry. Forgive a father’s worries.”

“No forgiveness is necessary, my friend. I feel exactly the same way about my Riders.  Sometimes a new Rider will be called and it’s all I can do not to despair at how young they are, or how innocent. Knowing as well as I do that this life doesn’t allow that kind of innocence for long. But, it’s also heartening how much happiness can be found in a life like this.” The smile she turned towards Stevic was… well, he didn’t know what it was, but it made his heart stutter just a half-beat.

He held her gaze for a long, silent moment and then she finally gave a slight headshake and a throat-clearing cough. “So, did you happen to discover anything about the fate of Rider Dorten in your reading? I assume he was aboard the _Rover_ when she was wrecked?”

Glad – or possibly disappointed – at the change in topic, Stevic nodded. “His last entry talks of odd weather and rumbling in the nearby islands.  He also mentioned his worry that one of these artifacts they were returning with might be the cause of the oddities in the weather.  I hate to speculate,” he hefted his shoulders, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if the _Rover_ getting suddenly buried by a rock fall after she’d run aground wasn’t magic caused.” He didn’t think it was his bias against magic that led him to think that way.

Laren nodded, settling down from where she knelt into a seated position right on the floor as she began to speak.  “That is what we suspected as well.  Another Rider was sent down to Corsa to interview the deckhand who’d escaped, and his story was quite specific.  He said the sea had been unseasonably tumultuous, the sky churning in sickly yellow-green like he’d never seen before and then suddenly they were becalmed.  The sea was still for almost three days. Just as the Captain was going to order the longboat into the water to try to tow her into moving waters, the storm returned and the ship was forced not only onto the shoals, but all the way up on to the beaches of Drifting Isle. 

“This deckhand was over the side in the nets inspecting the for hull damage when he heard the rumbling. I guess where the storm had dumped her was flush against the steep cliffs, and he said that the whole of a cliff face just… crumbled.” Laren shook her head. “I can’t imagine how much rock must’ve fallen to cover a ship that size so completely.”

Stevic couldn’t either.  He’d gotten Captain Frelane’s description of the ship personally and if he didn’t trust the man with his life, he’d have suspected he was being told a whopper of a lie.  He shared that thought with Laren and she chuckled.

“So it was the recent ground quakes that uncovered the _Rover_?” She wondered.

Stevic nodded. “That’s what we believe.”   He shrugged a bit helplessly. “I suppose that’s all we’ll ever know.”

“True enough,” Laren agreed.

As they were on the topic of the _Rover_ , he remembered another point he’d wanted to bring up.  When he’d talked to Captain Frelane the man had mentioned finding the well-preserved bodies of most of the crew.  “My men who recovered the Rover’s cargo also found the remains of the sailors on board.”

He paused, not wanting to seem gruesome but realized quickly that Laren had likely heard much worse. “Because of how quickly and thoroughly the ship was engulfed,” he explained, “there was very little exposure to air or moisture so most the bodies were completely mummified.  I don’t know if your Rider was among them, as he was out of uniform at the time.” He gave a jerk of his chin towards the books when Laren’s brow lifted. “He mentioned not wanting to ruin his gear while helping out on deck. But, he also mentioned that his horse, a stallion called Crow, was on board the ship.” He frowned. “My men found no…remains.” Stevic hadn’t known what to make of that.

He was surprised by Laren’s sudden and bright smile. “I know the answer to that, actually.  Some weeks after the delegation was declared lost at sea, a bedraggled, poor excuse for a horse - no more than skin-and-bones and limping on jagged-edged hooves - showed up at Rider stables.  It wasn’t until he’d been fed and groomed clean of the filth that covered him that they realized it was Crow. He made it home.”

Her smile stayed wide, but became just a little bit wistful. “It may interest you to know that Crow was retired after that and returned to the Wanda Plains, which is where all rider horses are born and bred. He fathered many babies, and your Karigan’s own Condor is a grandson of Crow.”

A rush of something warm and tingling spread through Stevic and his breath caught in his throat. “You know,” he managed after a moment, “the last time I saw Karigan we had words about Rider magic and magic in general and I was less than supportive at first.  You know how stubborn Karigan can be though, and she managed to convince me to… revisit my views.” He waved a hand towards the chest. “I almost feel as if this is fate’s way of following up on my daughter’s lesson.”

Laren flashed him another of those bright, youthful grins. “You never know, Stevic.  That just may be the truth. Now, I think I’d like to go through the rest of this and see what other Rider treasures might be discovered today.” 

When Stevic moved to stand, Laren waved him back down. “No, stay, please.  You’ve seen it all already and I’d also like to hear more about the rest of the _Rover’s_ cargo.” She ducked her head, cheeks pinking suddenly. “That is, if you don’t have other business to attend to?”

“No,” Stevic shook his head. “This is what brought me to Sacor City today.  That and the hope of news of Karigan,” he admitted.   Yet despite not having gotten any word on his daughter, Stevic’s unfaltering concern over her wellbeing seemed somehow lessened.  He didn’t know if it was the conversation with Laren, or the discovery of the Rider trunk but he suddenly felt absolutely sure that Karigan was safe wherever she might be.  He smiled eagerly back at Laren. “I’m happy to stay.” And he was.


End file.
